


The Adventures of Brallon

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cumshot, Deepthroating, Facial, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Angst, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: The spin-off fic of Brallon. Though Brallon-centric, all our favorites are still here (Pete Wentz the cat, not the bassist, Pete Wentz the bassist, not the cat, Josh and Tyler, Patrick Stump), and who knows who else will pop up! These boys are loud, crude, and absolutely adorable. Also...drumroll...Pete Wentz (the cat, not the bassist) Has his own Instagram account! Look him up at petewentzthecatnothebassist  (What else?) :)





	The Adventures of Brallon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jackthedullboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackthedullboy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tomorrow Will Never Be the Same](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697313) by [3Cheers4Mikey (RavenAurelieChoiseau)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/3Cheers4Mikey), [RavenAurelieChoiseau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau). 



> We jump into Brallon, and because it's them, immediate smut!

Brendon arranges the bottles against the bathroom window and mumbles to himself.

“How many fucking shampoo types do you need, Dallon?” He just shakes his head.

He yells towards the door. “Hey asshole, there’s 300 bucks in shampoo and shit in here. Not to mention you’ve taken over my cabinet with your moisturizers. I think you might have a problem.”

Dallon peeks into the bathroom, making a stupid Ace Ventura-like face. “Brendon, my love, I need them all. It depends on what day it is. If It’s a Monday, I’m depressed and so is my hair. Ergo, I need volumizing products.” He picks up a bottle and shows it off like someone on an infomercial. “Razzle dazzle, my love. You want me beautiful, don’t you?”

“Dal, you are fucking insane, you know that? Can you acknowledge this? So what, pray tell, is the Tuesday shampoo? Just for, you know, research purposes.” 

The bassist chooses the second-to-last one. “Silky hair.” 

“Right,” Brendon says. “Because on Monday you volumized.”  _Fuck my life, I married a freak._  
Dallon smiles. “Exactly, see…you get it.” 

Brendon sighs.  _Is it too late to ask for a divorce?_  
“You know what this is Dal? This is Friday’s hair product.” He chooses one at random.   
The singer mocks Dallon’s earlier demonstration, adding a wave of the hand like a magician. “This is called ‘Brendon kicking Dallon out of his fucking house on Friday shampoo,’ unless he stops fucking hoarding beauty products.”

Dallon frowns. "You mean. Me no like you." He pushes his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Get rid of half of this shit, Dal. I'm serious. Come on, dude, I live here too. I am literally buried in your cosmetics.” The singer sighs, defeated.

“Why are you so grumpy this morning? We just had sex.” Dallon hugs him from behind with gangling arms.

Brendon is buttoning up his white dress shirt and squirms. “I’m not grumpy. And let go of me, Weekes. You’re not getting out of this using sex.”   
Dallon releases but turns to grab his chin. “Yes, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Look at this gorgeous lip, all pouty and sad.”

"Fuck off."

Dallon wipes his fake tears from his bright blue eyes. "You're hurting my feelings, husband."

Brendon throws him a side glance. "You mean the ones you don't have?" 

Dal sighs. "Yes. What time is the meeting with Pete? Can I fit in a shower? Cuz I kinda smell like cigarettes and cum. Which, I’m sure, that little whore Pete Wentz is used to. But still. One must show some class.”

The singer laughs. "The only thing Pete is used to lately is the smell of cake. Sorry not sorry. Since Pat has been away he hasn't been getting any and it's making him stress eat. And for the record, Dallon, that's my favorite perfume on you, but only if the cum is mine."

The bassist leans in and kisses Brendon softly. "Mmm...nice. See? I have feelings. In fact I'm feeling them right now… in my pants."

Brendon glances down to the erection in Dallon's pajama bottoms. "You are such a slut, Weekes. We just fucking boned."

Dallon sneaks his hand over to Brendon's boxers. "Come on, Brennie. A quickie. You make me so fucking horny. Don't make me beg."

Brendon's breath hitches as Dallon grabs onto his cock. He tugs, blowing hot air into Bren's ear. 

"Come on, lover." The ticklish warm air causes the singer's skin to prickle. "You know you want it." Another tug. 

"Ugh fuck you, Dallon." Brendon's legs tremble a little. 

"That's the idea." The bassist licks his earlobe obscenely.

Dallon's hand grips harder. Brendon’s cock is quite thick and his lover can fist it only because he has such large hands. Urie groans, seeking more, and bucks his hips into the hand now stroking him gently. 

"Jesus. Shit. Dude you're so fucking hot." He kisses Dallon roughly, hands digging into his ass. He steps back, pulling down Dallon's pants and underwear in one take. 

"Get in the fucking shower, you filthy whore. I'm gonna fuck your ass into the tile."

Dallon loves it when Brendon talks dirty.

Moments later they are both naked, the warm stream beating down on them. Brendon licks Dallon's tongue, drops of tasteless shower water falling between them, only slicking everything further. “This is so hot. We haven’t fucked in the shower in ages.” Dallon nods in agreement.

There's no need for it, Brendon is already super hard, but he wants to see Dallon on his knees.

"Get on your knees, Weekes, and open your mouth." 

Dallon smirks. "This was my idea, Urie, and I'm the bossy bottom today. YOU get on your knees and let me fuck YOUR mouth."

It's a standoff. Both men stand in the shower, wet hair plastered on their faces, holding their erect, flushed dicks, their other hands on their hips in defiance. “This is ridiculous.”  In true Weekes style, Dallon shrugs his shoulders and says with a cluck of his tongue "Fine. Nobody fucks anybody’s mouth. There's no time, anyway. Tonight, dude, you're gonna feel me in your feet. Now get your cock in my ass already before I blow my load on your stomach."

Brendon doesn't waste time. He flips the bassist around, who has spreads his long legs and arms, using the wall for balance.  _You are so hot, Weekes. Jesus look at that ass._

"Shit. Lube." Bren realizes.

Dallon looks back. "Jesus, Urie, we're in a goddamn shower. There's water. Pour some fucking conditioner on your dick.  Whatever, dude, let's get this going. Plus we fucked half an hour ago so I’m pretty much gaping. Come on, just fuck me already." He's whining. Brendon hates a whiny Dallon. He wouldn’t mind shutting him up with his fat dick, but there really isn’t time.

He grabs the first bottle he finds and pours a ton of the stuff on his member. It smells like strawberries. UGH DALLON! TYPICAL.

Without warning, since Dal is expecting it, he circles once with his tip on his opening and then sticks his cock inside the bassist. Both grunt in low tones. "Oh yeah Urie. Like that. Jesus. Now we’re talking." 

Brendon latches onto Dallon’s shoulder with his teeth, bottoming out immediately. He almost makes it a point to push in even further with a whispered "fuck."

“Oh fuck, Bren. FUCK FUCK FUCK.” He pumps into the bassist, once, twice, three times until he finds a rhythm. Weeke’s muscle hugs his dick tightly. It’s fire in there, hotter than the water still pouring down on them. "Fuck Dal, you feel so good. So fucking good. Let me hear you scream my name, baby."

He increases his thrusts, resulting in Dallon making porn noises. “Brendon FUCK Ugh Ugh Ugh,” an ugh for every time the singer impales him.

The bassist’s face is pressed against the cold wall now, cheek to tile as he gets pounded. Brendon’s using his hips for leverage, nails clinging to his waist.  Everything is wet and Bren’s hands slip. He falls forward into Dallon, pushing him flat against the wall but also pushing his own cock deeper into his ass. He bites lightly into Dallon's neck as he continues his thrusts. “You know why I love that you’re a tall bottom?” He pants into his ear as he fucks him. “Cuz I can aim straight and then angle in so much easier.” He does one of his signature twists of the hips, and his lover squeals.

"Bren, fuck. Stop talking. Fucking fuck me harder, please. Please. I’m so close."

Dallon’s been stroking his own cock this whole time, grip tight at the base while the other pressures near the head, trying to get himself off as quickly as possible. He can sense by the way Brendon’s tensing that he’s close, too. He pulls up, passing his foreskin over the raw tip, and hisses.   
Brendon’s lost now, his orgasm building, shoving almost awkwardly into Dallon who has spread himself further. “Bren, ugh, I’m coming Bren…”

Brendon pulls out, fast, faster then Dallon expects. He whirls him around, falls to his knees, and sticks his tongue out. “Fucking cum on my face, Weekes, coat me in it.” Dallon can’t hold back anymore, how could he with that amazing mouth waiting for his spunk? “Oh shit, Urie, don’t say shit like that…”

He positions the tip on the singer’s wide tongue just as he explodes. “Ughhhh fuck Bren, FUCK. You dirty thing, I love you.” Brendon swallows as it comes, hot lips closing around the swollen tip. The water would have washed it away and he needed to drink it all.

There are multiple spurts and Dallon feels Brendon’s tongue licking his slit, coaxing it all out. _Jesus fuck I am going to pass out._

His lips finally release Dallon’s dick, leaving them both panting. “Jesus, Bren. Jesus.”

Brendon stands up, cock still very much erect, and Dallon kneels. “I knew I’d end up fucking your mouth, Weekes. You know I always get my way.”   
Dallon smirks. “Fuck you and shut me up already.” Brendon grabs Dallon on each side of his head, and the bassist lets his mouth go slack. Brendon is enveloped by the heat, the beautiful, intensifying heat.

Dallon increases the suction, his tongue flat against the pulsating vein. Brendon was already so close it doesn’t take long, he can feel it rising inside him.   
“Dal, I’m cumming, just hold your breath” He pushes in until Dallon’s face is smashed against his pubes, and thrusts in quick succession against the back of his throat until he can feel the stream of warm semen on his tongue. Dallon’s eyes water, or maybe it’s the shower, and then there’s the sweet release.

“Ughhhhh Jesus. Ugh fuck me. Dallon, fuck” Jets of his hot cum flow down Dal’s throat. More expletives follow and then the singer releases his grip. Dallon pulls off in a gasp, needing air.   
“Oh shit, Bren,” He coughs. “Oh shit.” Both men are panting, Dallon still on his knees as he wipes his mouth. Urie’s panting slows as he helps his lover up.

“Such a good boy, Weekes. Such a good, filthy boy.”

Dallon licks his tongue. “I can taste you on me, it’s so fucking hot.”

“Mmm,” Bren replies, chest to chest with his husband.                                                        

 “We have wasted so much water, I’m feeling guilty,” Dallon says.

Brendon laughs. “You’re right. Okay, let’s get cleaned up. If we’re late again to the meeting Pete is gonna have our heads.”

                                                      ---

An hour later, while holding a Frenchie, Dallon and Brendon rush into Pete Wentz’s office. It seems like the start to a bad joke "A singer and a bassist walk into a bar holding a bulldog..." but it isn't. 

The (other) bassist is sitting at his desk, eating a cupcake. The boys sit down on the couch with a lot of unnecessary theatrics. Dallon places the small dog near his feet.

Brendon can’t help himself. “Pete, put the cupcake down and step away slowly.”  Pete frowns.

“Fuck you, Urie- And oh by the way, you’re late. Again. And what the fuck is that?!”

Brendon crosses his long legs and looks down at the puppy looking up at him adoringly. “Oh, him? That’s our new dog.”

“What’s his name? No…let me guess. Nevermind, I don’t care. Just tell me.”

Dallon grins, “Patrick Stump.”

Pete doesn’t understand. “Pat’s not coming today, Dal. He's still in New York.”  
Dallon shakes his head. “No, dude. The dog’s name is Patrick Stump.”

Pete busts out in laughter, holding his belly. “Oh my god. Are you shitting me?”  
Brendon nods. “Nope. Fucking Patrick Stump, my friend.”  
Pete has tears in his eyes. “Oh Fuck, Pat's gonna piss himself. Oh my god. That’s genius, Bren. Fucking genius. Not as good as calling your cat Pete Wentz, mind you, but still. And after the initial shock, I have taken to the idea, especially since that fucker is mean as hell.”

Brendon and Dallon nod in agreement.

“He fucking hates me, you know.” Dallon’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand what I did to that cat.” He's looking for an answer in Brendon's face but the singer is just snickering. 

Brendon smiles back a laugh. “He’s evil. You’re evil. You have too much in common.”  
Dallon chuckles. “True. This is very true.”

Pete bends down, pets Patrick Stump on the head and the blonde puppy’s tail wags. “Oh fuck me, this dog is adorable.”

“We know,” say Brendon and Dallon in unison.

"Can I take a picture? I wanna send it to Pat."  

"Knock yourself out." 

Pete Wentz (the bassist) takes out his phone and snaps a pic to Patrick. "He's gonna freak." 

He shows the phone to the boys and they both say "Awww." 

"When's Pat coming back? Just asking so I know when to start you on a diet." Urie bites his lip.

"You fucker. I am not fat. And Pat's coming back next week. I can't wait. I've been jerking off to porn way too much. Making it hard to play."

Pete grins, and Brallon howls. 

“Anyway,” Pete sits down on a chair near the sofa. “We’re almost ready to release the album, so be ready to go back on tour. I’m gonna have TOP open for you.”

Brendon claps excitedly. “Oh fun, I miss Joshie. It’ll be awesome to hang out again.”

Dallon throws him an eye dart. “I’ll have to watch my language around the altar boy. Dammit."

Pete just smirks. “Ty is nice, Dallon, I honestly don’t know why you two are always at odds.”

 “That’s because Dallon has a hard-on for Joshua. And Tyler knows it," Brendon reveals. He puts on a schoolyard tone. "Dallon and Josh sitting in a tree.."

Pete gasps. “Dal? Really? You hot for the Dun? I don’t see you two together, but I get it. He’s hot af. And Jesus Christ have you seen that ass?”

"Super fucking hot," Weekes replies.

Brendon clicks his tongue. “He seems to forget he married me three months ago. But that’s okay. I forgive you, Dally. But only because you give great head.” Bren pretends Dallon can't hear him  and whispers to Pete "He's a deep throater. No gag reflex."

Pete stands. “Okay, TMI, Urie. TMI.”

All three start laughing.

“Okay, so I’m gonna give you this paperwork, same as last time. Just get it back to Susan and we can start putting a rehearsal schedule together. Sounds good?”

The singer grabs the folder and puts a cigarette between his pillow lips. “Awesome. Okay…I need a smoke. See you at the car, Dal. Come on, Patrick Stump. Come with Daddy.”  
  
Pete opens his mouth, “Speaking of Daddy…”

Brendon turns on his heel. “Shut the fuck up, Pete. Don’t even.”

  
Dallon knows what he’s talking about and can’t contain his explosive laughter.

Pete waves him away. “Fine. It’s a funny story though.” 

“Goodbye, Pete.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like this. I enjoy writing them so much. I do believe I am their love child. :)


End file.
